by Snow, Nicole
Now, my gut burns. Tells me I'm closer than I think to everything.
Sloan's truck drives up to the front of the house. Knowing how far sound travels in the cold, in the dark, I find a wide spot in the road and pull the Yukon over far enough so the police can still get by. I kill the engine and climb out.
I’m not dressed for trekking through deep snow, but that’s the least of my worries.
I head cross country, thankful the newly fallen snow muffles any leaves and twigs under my feet. I can hear when he cuts the engine of his truck, and then I'm moving faster, pressing on until my knees burn.
The old war wound in my leg pulses hot. Angry. Insistent.
I don't fucking care. It won't stop me, won't pull me away from her.
My adrenaline pumps in a frantic rush, heart pounding in my ears. I've never been so scared in my life, even if I'm fully ready to kill something.
If he’s hurt her, he's dead.
And if he hasn't, then she needs to be safe. Now.
I hear Sloan’s voice in the distance, his rough laugh.
Can’t tell what he says, but the next moment, my blood curdles.
Wendy’s shrill scream power-boosts my speed.
The house is still several yards away when I break through the trees, but I see Sloan and Wendy. Her arms are hooked together and he’s pulling her toward the house by her ponytail.
A guttural, savage growl burns down my throat like acid.
Sloan stops. Turns around. Too slow.
I’m running so fast, I don’t know if my feet are even hitting the ground or if I've gone airborne.
All I see is him, holding her by the hair, and a vision of myself strangling him until he stops moving.
Then Wendy screams.
A gunshot sounds like the end of the universe.
My knee burns like the sun.
I don't care.
Enraged, betrayed, head down, I barrel into Sloan like a charging bull.
We both fly into the wall of the house, collide with it so hard the entire wall shakes.
I jump back. He flies forward. We’re both whirling fists and curses. One hand of mine tangles in his long, black hair, while my other smashes his nose.
I’m making every right-handed punch count because my left arm doesn’t have the power it should.
Sloan’s screaming some shit about it being her fault. All her fault.
I'm not here to listen. I land another blow straight in his teeth, feeling them skin my knuckle, and then pull back and give him another solid punch, right in the teeth again.
He flies against the wall, stumbling forward. I attack again, flanking him, striking the side of his face. He hits me back, a clumsy boot in my gut, knocking the wind out of me.
I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe and I'm on the ground. Under him.
Sugar, hold on.
All I see is her while the rest of my vision fades. I never know how I force myself to move without any oxygen for the next twenty seconds, while he hovers over me, too dazed and battered to land a fatal blow, missing my head every time.
I throw myself up like a spring, punching and kicking, pushing his evil ass with all my might. He flies forward into the darkness and then there's a sickening crunch.
He goes down snarling. Hits the ground. Goes limp.
What the hell?
I'm doubled over, one eye on him still, when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and pivot, still tense, still ready.
I drop my fist. It’s Wendy. Holding a tire iron even though her hands are still tied together.
“Sorry. I would've been quicker, but...working with a bit of a disadvantage here.” She drops the tire iron.
Even through the pain, the hell, the fury, I grin like a fool.
She’s Sugar and Spice all right. Through and through. And best of all, she's okay.
We step forward, merging. I wrap her in my arms.
“Jesus, you're bleeding...”
I shake my head and kiss her forehead. We're alive and Sloan's down for now. That's all that matters.
“Is Ben all right?” She buries her head in my chest. “Please says he’s all right, Hunter!”
I smile at how that’s the second thing she asks. “Yeah, he's fine. Just scared. He’s with your folks right now.”
She presses tighter against me. “Oh, God, Hunter, I was so scared. So scared for him. For you and Ben.”
“Funny coincidence, we were scared for you.”
There. I see that sweet smile on her I missed. It's the very same I've fallen in love with, and after all this, I think it'll always be the most beautiful sight in the world.
There's no time to kiss her again because there's a noise in the distance.
Headlights, coming down the hill, fast. “We made it. It’s over now. The police are –”
I can't even finish my sentence because she lifts her head and screams. “Gun!”
Then there's just the ice-cold crunch of snow on the side of my face as I crash down, bringing her with me as the shot sounds. I can hear something deadly whistle past my ear.
The police car skids to a stop a second later, and I cover Wendy with my body as a succession of shots ring out. I turn, facing Sloan's slow, staggering silhouette behind us. He's muttering something into the night.
“Fuck it. Fuck it, Juno, baby, I did it all for you. Sloan's coming.”
His wretched voice is the last thing I hear before he lifts the gun again, pointing it over us, and starts to empty the entire clip. I'm screaming, bellowing his name.
For some ungodly reason, I wish he'd stop. Turn himself in, rather than go out in a blaze of glory, even after all this.
If there's anyone who deserves to rot behind bars, it's this asshole, this monster who used to call himself my brother.
But the eternal second of silence doesn't care what anybody here wants.
It ends in a roar of Sloan and the police and pure insanity. Shots flying everywhere, flashes in the night, brighter and deadlier than the distant, winking stars overhead.
Goddammit. I just hold my woman close, shield her ears from the violence, press her little face into my battered chest so hard it hurts, praying it'll all be done.
It takes forever to stop hearing echoes, and when the silence returns, it's suffocating.
Then someone breaks it, shouting. “Get up, get up! Hands in the air right now. Both hands!”
“Do they mean us?” she asks in a trembling voice.
“Yes, babe. They do.”
* * *
The next few hours are a royal pain in the ass.
I’m taken to the hospital by ambulance. Active shooter protocol whenever there's been injuries. Wendy has to go to the police station for questioning.
My Yukon gets towed into police possession because there’s no one to drive it.
Will brings a friend to pick it up sometime very early the next morning. Then he gets me from the hospital, Wendy from the police station, and it’s damn near noon before we all get home.
“You sure you both don’t want to just crash at our house?” Will asks, pulling into the driveway.
“No, Dad,” Wendy says. “Hunter will be more comfortable in his own bed, but you keep Ben safe and entertained until later. Tell him we're all right. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Of course Ben will stay here,” Will says. “But I'm not seeing you anywhere tomorrow. You're taking tomorrow off, Wendy. And then a solid week. Leave it to your mother and me to bring Ben by later.”
“Thanks, Will,” I say, opening the passenger door, trying not to wince from a hundred bruises. “Thanks for everything.”
I hold Wendy’s door as she climbs out. She looks at me, then at the house, then back at me. “The garage door opener and your keys are in the Yukon, aren’t they?”
“Damn, you're right.”
“So we’re locked out?”
“You’re locked out?” Will asks over the hood of the car.
�
�No,” I say. “You can leave Will. I have a key hid near the back door.”
“You have a spare key?” Wendy asks. “The master of security systems?”
“Guilty. Locked myself out mowing the lawn one time,” I growl, rolling my eyes. “Nothing Sloan could ever find. After this, I think I just might be keeping it with me.”
“Well, I’ll wait until I see lights come on!” Will yells, climbing back in the driver’s seat.
I give him a grateful nod.
Hand in hand, Wendy and I traipse through the snow, around the side of the garage, and along the side of the house to the back door. There, I tap on the fourth brick by the outdoor kitchen counter. It slides open and I lift out the key. I unlock the door, replace the key, and slide the brick closed.
“I’m going to remember that,” she teases, holding onto the wall as she steps out of her boots.
“You and I are the only two who know about it. Not even Ben does.” I pull her against my chest for the first solid hug since early this morning.
There's something so intimate, so intense about a hug. Something I never knew before I met her.
“Your arm. Don't you think we should take it –”
“Easy? I'm fine,” I tell her, not letting her move. “Nothing hurts worse than missing you in my arms, Sugar. Once we're upstairs, I'll show how much I mean it.”
She giggles, then says, “Behave. We have to turn on lights first so my dad can leave.”
I laugh. I'd forgotten about Will, and what sweetness does to me.
Her own special Sugar and Spice way of making me forget damn near everything but her, which is exactly how it should be.
After we turn on the lights in the front and watch Will drive away, we head upstairs.
* * *
It’s Christmas Eve, and I'm in the front living room with Wendy and Ben.
We're going to her parents’ house tomorrow, but tonight, it’s just us.
I can't remember the last time I was ever this nervous. She reaches over and squeezes my hand, like she already knows. Jingles sits next to her, half-asleep, the only one who's blissfully unaware of the energy crackling through the air like a current.
Fuck.
After saving her life and answering a million police questions and dealing with Sloan, it should be simple. Should be nothing after having to face Ben, after he found out about Sloan, but that seems easy compared to what I'm about to say.
It's time, though. Long overdue. Ben knows about Sloan, and now it’s time he knows the rest.
I lean forward, lifting a wrapped package off the coffee table. “This is for you, Ben, to open now.”
“Cool, first dibs! Are we gonna open all our presents tonight?”
“If you want,” I say.
Shit, after he sees what's inside, I wonder if he'll want to.
“Sweet. I sure hope you two like what I got you.” He looks at us and grins. “Sammy helped me pick it out.”
“We'll love it,” Wendy says, a calmness in her voice. “But right now, go ahead and open that one from your Dad.”
Ben tears back the paper, slowing as he goes. A puzzled look crinkles his face as he stares down at the picture.
It’s another wedding picture of Cory and Juno, up close, and I’m standing next to him. The differences in our eyes are obvious.
“Listen to me, son,” I begin, but he's already sucking his cheek in.
“Dad?” Ben looks up at me, frowning. “Is this guy...wait. I thought your twin brother died when you were young? Before you got married?”
Wendy sits up straight, almost as anxious as I am. Almost.
“He did. He was young. It was over twelve years ago.” I watch him carefully as I continue. “I’ve wanted to tell you this so many times over the years, but...I had to wait till you were old enough, mature enough. Man enough to understand. And if I'm being honest, man enough for me to work up the nerve.” I clasp his shoulder, pointing at the people in the picture. “That’s your mom, there. Juno. That’s your dad...and that’s me.”
I feel his shoulder tense under my hand. Panic goes off inside me like a damn rocket.
“You're...you're my uncle?”
I swallow something like a rock in my throat and nod. “And your dad. Always will be, son. I adopted you after your parents died.”
He stares at the picture, hard, for what feels like an eternity, before he looks up at me again.
“Jesus. Sloan...he told me once that you might tell me something crazy like this someday, and I wasn’t supposed to believe you. That you’d just be lying to me. But he said so many other things that weren’t true. I think he was lying about this, too.”
Ben's voice is so soft. It's a strange contrast with the white hot rage in my blood.
That dead, lying fuck.
His manipulation went so deep. I hate myself for not seeing it long before now.
But then I look at Wendy and I know it's okay. I love Sugar even more for saving us before things got worse. For bringing me to my senses.
“Your father was Cory, my twin brother, and he loved you very much, Ben. So did your ma.” I lay my hand on his arm. “Just like I do, and always will.”
“I love you, too, Dad.” He smiles slowly, his voice cracking a bit. Then he jumps up and gives me a proper hug. “You know...it’s kinda cool. Twin brothers, and they're both my dad.” He chuckles. “Man, I bet no one else can say that.”
“I bet you're right,” Wendy says, wiping at one eye.
He sets the picture on the coffee table. “Okay. Not to be a huge buzzkill or anything but...will you guys open your presents from me now?”
Wendy slips a hand into mine and squeezes her fingers. “Can't wait.”
Smiling, I lift our clutched hands to my lips, kissing the back of hers.
She grins, leans in, and whispers. “He’s such a great kid. You're very lucky.”
There's no denying how great my son is. His gifts, not so much.
We get matching sweaters. Red and white candy cane striped. Mine has Santa Claus with a big woolly beard on the front. Wendy has Mrs. Claus.
“Wowwww,” she says, trying her damnedest to get hyped. “Very cool, Ben! My mother certainly helped you pick these out. I’d know her style anywhere.”
“You like them?” Ben asks, beaming.
“Love 'em,” Wendy says, standing to give him a hug.
I stand, too, and hug him one more time for good measure.
“Open that big green one, Ben,” Wendy says, pointing at a package beneath the tree. “It’s from me.”
Ben retrieves the package while we sit down.
“You know you have to wear that tomorrow, don’t you?” she asks quietly.
I nod. “I know. Fuck,” I add under my breath.
“Holy baking pans!” Ben exclaims, holding up a huge stack of aluminum. “Awesome! Thanks, Wendy.”
“You’re welcome,” she says to Ben, then leans against me again. “Maybe it’ll snow, and we won’t have to go after all.”
I shake my head. “Cold and sunny. I already checked.”
“Mmm. How’s your shoulder? And the knee?”
I shake my head at her. “Fine. You aren’t getting out of wearing that sweater, so stop trying.” I turn to Ben. “Grab that red one by the fireplace, son. The one the two of us got for Wendy.”
He grabs it, carries it over, and stands next to her as she opens it.
She reaches in and lifts out three envelopes. “What’s this?”
“Three tickets,” Ben says. “To anywhere in the world during my spring break. We can have the time off. I already asked Will.”
Damn, she's so beautiful when she laughs. “Oh, you did, did you?”
There are several other presents for all of us, and then more laughter than this house has ever heard. Jingles wakes up and bats at the gift wrap, letting out a triumphant yowl when he finds his new toy mouse buried in one pile.
Hours later, Sugar's naked body snuggles up to my side as I’m ba
sking in the aftermath of another episode of the best sex of my life. I kiss the top of her head.
“Any ideas yet where you want to go?”
“Hmmm. Anywhere in the world, you said?”
“That's the deal,” I whisper. “For a week. A full seven days. That's your end of the bargain.”
Smiling, she rolls on top of me, stretching, then wiggling down and propping her elbows on my chest. She rests her chin on the back of her hand.
Eyes closed, she lets out a sigh. “Okay, fine. If I could go anywhere, for a whole week, and stay there? You really want to know?”
I nod. So ready.
Then she opens her eyes. “It'd be right here. In this bed. With you.”
19
Aloha, Love (Wendy)
I’m doing it, wearing the ugly Christmas sweater on Christmas Day.
My life's officially complete.
The only thing that’s better is Hunter wearing his too. Rochelle is predictably appalled. The rest of the family almost died the second we peeled off our coats. And Ben can't stop beaming, so it’s worth it.
“Wendy-girl! We’re waiting on you!” Mom shouts. “It’s time to open presents.”
I shake my head, wondering who the real kid is this Christmas.
“Coming!” I set the baster on the spoon rest on the stove and close the oven door. Draping an arm over Ben’s shoulder, I say, “Come on. We'd better get in there before they come hunt us down.”
As we enter the living room, all eyes are on us. They're literally waiting. “Turkey will be done in about an hour.”
“We know,” Mom says, waving us over to the sofa. “Sit down. Right there. Next to Hunter. Sit down.”
Lordy, I haven’t seen her this excited to open presents in years. I sit and smile at how Ben takes a seat on the floor in front of my father. I like how the two of them get along. It’s so good for them both.
“Okay, okay, now,” Mom says, clucking her tongue. “Let’s see. Who should go first?”
She glances around the room and stops on me. “How about Wendy? Who has a present for Wendy?”